


Parent-Teacher Meeting

by ashfalldown



Series: Joan & The Amis [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Single Dad Grantaire, Teacher Enjolras, i dont know how this au got so important to me but here we are, only brief mentions of marius jehan and courf but thats okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 16:10:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2276127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashfalldown/pseuds/ashfalldown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is called into a parent-teacher meeting to discuss his daughter's penchant for starting fights.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parent-Teacher Meeting

Grantaire had never planned on having children. If he was being honest, he’d never really planned much of anything, generally never thinking much further ahead than his next drink. That was how he’d always lived his life, and it had been working exceptionally well for him up until now.

He’d been shocked when he’d gotten the call. Not that it should really have been that surprising – the weeks previous had been a combination of alcohol and sex, which is how he’d liked all of his holidays to go. At least it had been Aimee - a girl he’d managed to start an actual friendship with, rather than a complete stranger. A tiny positive, although he still wished in hindsight that he’d just stuck to guys. There was a significantly lower chance of accidental pregnancy that way.

He was ashamed to admit that he didn’t exactly take the news well. In fact, he’d had a full blown freak out, trying to drown his problems in bottle after bottle of bourbon. In the end it was the bar girl, Eponine, who managed to get through to him. Unsurprisingly, after all the time he spent at the bar they’d become great friends. She was often the only one who could talk any sense into him.

She’d convinced him to man up and do the right thing. He’d called Aimee, finally, and they’d met up to discuss exactly what she wanted from him, and what he was willing to give. He wasn’t ready to be a father in the slightest, and Aimee had wanted to raise the child more or less on her own. Grantaire had no objections. They’d decided that he was going to be a ‘sometimes’ dad – not completely missing from the kid’s life, but also very clearly acting as the secondary parent.

Of course, life being what it was, even the best plans didn’t always go as they were meant to. Aimee had died during childbirth, leaving Grantaire a single father without a clue how to raise his child. Aimee had been the one who had been prepared. She had been planning for this since day one. All Grantaire had planned was to show up on birthdays, and the occasional weekend. Now he was faced with the reality of having to raise his child alone.

Not that any of that mattered once she was placed in his arms. She’d been taken away to be looked over before he could really see her, but once he held her, it didn’t matter how unprepared he was. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for that little girl.

“Joan,” he said softly, smiling down as she wrapped her fingers around his thumb. “I’ll call you Joan.”

* * *

 

It had been six years since he’d brought Joan home from the hospital, and he’d finally realised that he could never have fully been prepared for any of this. He flicked through the mail absently, stopping at the sight of an official looking envelope. His eyes narrowed as he read the letter it contained.

“Joan!”

He leant against the kitchen counter, waiting as his daughter thundered down the stairs.

“Yeah?” She was a mess. Her uniform was filthy, and her hair was falling out of her braids.

He held up the letter. “Would you like to explain this?”

“What is it?”

“A letter from your teacher,” he explained. “Asking me to come in for a meeting because _somebody_ got in a fight. Another one.” He sighed, looking over the dirt stains on her shirt. “I guess that explains what happened to your uniform.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Joan started. “There was this dumb boy talking all about how girls would never be as good as boys, so I told him to shut up, and then he told me to shut up, and he called me dumb, and Aunty Eponine always says to never let people call me names so I pushed him and then he pushed me back so I hit him.” She paused to take a breath.

Grantaire fought to keep a straight face. He didn’t want her to suspect that he was actually a little proud of her, and the fact she’d listened to what Eponine had been teaching her. Which wasn’t to say that he was entirely pleased. He ran his hands through his hair.

“Okay,” he said. “Alright. I’ll go and see your teacher tomorrow and sort everything out.”

Joan looked up at him, big eyes filled with uncertainty. “You’re not mad?” she asked, confused.

“I’m disappointed,” he told her. “And you will apologise to the boy you hit, and to your teacher, and promise never to do it again. And ask your teacher whether there’s anything you can do to make up for your behaviour, okay?”

Joan nodded. “Okay,” she said dutifully, just as she had a hundred times before. Grantaire was certain this wouldn’t be the last time he heard from her school.

“Good,” he said, reaching down to lift her up. He placed her, giggling on the kitchen counter. “Now that that’s sorted, what do you want for dinner?”

“Pizza!” she replied enthusiastically. He fixed her with a serious look.

“Do you really think that you deserve pizza after today?”

Joan looked downcast. “No,” she mumbled unhappily.

“Well neither do I,” he said. “But I already ordered it, so we’re just going to have to eat it anyway.” He was lying, of course. He hadn’t given dinner a second thought to dinner until now, but he didn’t want to cook and he didn’t want to seem like he was rewarding her behaviour. Even if he thought that boy had it coming.

He could tell that she was trying not to look too pleased.

“Go and take a shower,” he dismissed her. She jumped down from the kitchen bench energetically and raced off towards the stairs. “Make sure you get all that dirt off!” he called after her. “And put your dirty clothes in the basket!” He heard the bathroom door slam.

He sighed as he grabbed the phone to order their food. He kept hoping that Joan would calm down a little and stop starting fights – or, at the very least, stop getting into _so many_ fights. Part of him was proud of her for being able to stand up for herself, but the other, larger part was worried that he was doing something wrong. None of the other girls he’d met seemed to misbehave nearly as often as she did. He’d have to talk to Eponine – _again_ – about what she was teaching Joan.

He flopped down onto the couch after their dinner was ordered, thinking about tomorrow. With everything he’d already had planned – getting on top of the ever-growing laundry pile, and the rest of the housework, as well as repainting Joan’s room yet again – she’d decided to trade in her princess mural for superheroes, and now the parent-teacher meeting, he wasn’t sure he’d have the time to go into the art shop. He’d have to call Jehan and see if he could work the full day instead of his usual half.

* * *

 

Their food had finally arrived and they sat on the living room floor, eating while they watched the Disney Channel.

“So,” Grantaire said, looking over at Joan over his pizza. “What are you going to do tomorrow?”

She sighed loudly. “Apologise.”

“And?” Grantaire prompted.

“And never do it again,” she recited dutifully.  

“... _and?_ ”

“ _And_ ask if there’s anything I can do to make up for my behaviour,” she huffed.

“Without any of that attitude I hope, miss,” Grantaire said sternly. “I will be talking to your teacher, so I’ll know whether you do it nicely or not.”

“Yes,” Joan said, like it was a chore. “I’ll say it nicely.”

“Good.” Grantaire pushed the pizza boxes to the side and wrapped an arm loosely around her shoulders. He pulled her tightly into his side. “I don’t want to hear about you getting into any more trouble.”

“Ever?” She looked up at him, horrified at the prospect of having to be on good behaviour forever.

Grantaire laughed. “For a few weeks, at least.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Think you can manage that?”

“I’ll try,” she shrugged dramatically. “But there are a _lot_ of dumb boys out there.”

“You need to spend less time around Aunty Eponine,” Grantaire said, and she giggled.

Once Joan had gone to bed, Grantaire started making calls.

“Yeah?” Eponine answered casually.

“Stop teaching my daughter to start fights,” he said without greeting.

“Nice to speak to you too,” Eponine replied sarcastically. “What do you mean?”

“I have a meeting at Joan’s school tomorrow,” he explained. “Because you keep teaching her that punching boys who call her names is the answer to everything.”

“Isn’t it?” Eponine asked innocently.

“ _Ep,_ ” Grantaire said. “I’m serious.”

“Well would you prefer that she let people be mean to her instead?” Eponine asked.

“I’d prefer not to be the father who has to constantly be at the school because his daughter keeps starting fights,” he said tiredly.

Eponine sighed dramatically on her end of the line. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll stop telling her to start fights. But I’m not going to stop telling her to stand up for herself.”

“I wouldn’t want you to,” he said. “I like knowing that my daughter can take care of herself. I just don’t like knowing about it quite so much.”

Eponine sighed again. “Fine, fine,” she said. “No more punch first kind of lessons. The take-no-shit lessons stay.”

Grantaire laughed. “Thanks, Ep.”

“Don’t mention it,” she said. “Anything else?”

“That’s it,” he told her.

“Then I’m gonna have to let you go,” she said. “I’m supposed to be working. See you on Sunday.”

“See you then,” he said. He hung up and called Jehan, who was thankfully more than happy to work the full day tomorrow.

With all of that sorted, Grantaire headed upstairs, desperate to shower and sleep.

* * *

 

Grantaire had made it through most of the housework, and was halfway through repainting Joan’s room when his phone alarm started beeping. He picked it up and swore at the time. He was going to be late for that damn meeting. He threw on his shirt and grabbed his car keys as he raced downstairs, barely remembering to put on shoes as he left.

Thanks to the good traffic conditions, he was only running a few minutes late. The kids were all out at lunch, so the halls were all relatively empty as he raced through in search of classroom 1F. He poked his head around the corner as he located it, and found who he assumed to be Joan’s teacher sitting at his desk, poring over papers.

He’d been expecting a middle aged man, out of shape and complete with greying hair. At least, that was how he’d remembered all of his teachers. Joan’s teacher was... not that. From what Grantaire could see of his body – hidden beneath a slightly-too-tight dress shirt, sleeves rolled up along his forearms – he certainly wasn’t out of shape, and he had a head full of golden curls that he brushed out of his eyes as he read.

Realising he’d been staring, Grantaire cleared his throat uncertainly. The teacher looked up.

“Yes?”

Grantaire stepped into the room. It could have been the fact that he was a teacher, or that he was better looking than a teacher had any right to be, but he was starting to feel a little nervous.

“Um,” he began. “I was asked to come in today for a meeting, I’m – ”

“Joan’s father?” the teacher finished, standing to shake his hand.

“Grantaire,” he introduced himself. “And, you’re – ”

“Enjolras,” the teacher said. “Please take a seat.”

Enjolras observed the man as he sat down opposite him. This wasn’t what he’d been expecting. Joan had never really talked much about her father, and to be honest Enjolras had been expecting a corporate absent-father type who put his job before his daughter. He’d always figured that was why Joan acted out so much, but looking at the man before him, with his worn out jeans and crinkled t-shirt, paint smeared on his face and in his hair, he realised he could have been wrong in his assumptions.

“So you know why you’re here,” Enjolras began, suddenly remembering that he was at work.

Grantaire nodded. “Joan mentioned there was a fight.”

“Did she happen to mention that she started the fight?” Enjolras asked, and Grantaire fought to keep himself from smiling. This was a serious thing, he reminded himself. Joan was in trouble. This was _serious_. Still, he couldn’t keep the corners of his mouth from tugging up.

“She mentioned it, yes,” Grantaire said. “She also mentioned that she was provoked.”

Enjolras sighed, resting his elbows on his desk. “Grantaire. Joan... is one of the smartest students in this class. She’s more than capable of every task I set her. Her work – when she gets it done, is always impeccable. But she’s a disruption to others.”

“A disruption?” Grantaire started to feel insulted. Sensing he’d hit a nerve, Enjolras tried again.

“Well, no,” he said. “Not a disruption, exactly, that was the wrong thing to say. It’s just that she need to learn to control her temper. It can be a real problem.”

“Really,” Grantaire said hotly. “Because I would have thought that a more pressing issue for _you_ would be learning to control your other students. I know that Joan is hardly an angel, but she never acts without provocation.” He wasn’t going to sit here and let this teacher tell him that his daughter was a _disruption_. “Joan told me what that boy said to her, and perhaps if you’d focused more on teaching him that he was wrong, rather than punishing Joan for standing up for herself, this meeting would be unnecessary.”

“I was just suggesting,” Enjolras said diplomatically. “That Joan might benefit from learning to be a little calmer. There’s no arguing that she was provoked – the boy and his parents have been spoken to just the same as you and Joan. Perhaps Joan’s mother could – ”

“Joan doesn’t have a mother,” Grantaire said coldly. Enjolras looked at him, shocked. He should have known that. Why hadn’t he known that? “So whatever suggestions you might have been about to make about her teaching Joan to calm down, keep them to yourself.” He stood, the meeting clearly over. “Thanks for your time.”

Enjolras watched him go, guilt spreading throughout his body rapidly. He’d often considered the reasons Joan could have had for not speaking about her family, and not once had he suspected something like this. He felt awful.

* * *

 

Grantaire gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles whitened as he drove home. He knew that he shouldn’t have been so mad. After all, he hardly expected Enjolras to memorise the home situations of every child, but he could have at least known enough not to bring up the memory of Joan’s dead mother. He might not have loved Aimee, but he cared about her as much as he could have. He cared about her because Joan would have. He cared about her because Joan didn’t get a chance to.

He was still fuming when he got home. He was glad that there was still a lot left to paint in Joan’s room, and that this afternoon was her and Combeferre’s book club. He’d need a lot of space – and a lot of painting to calm himself down. He turned up his music, stripped off his shirt, and began.

He almost didn’t hear the knocking. Confused, he looked down at his phone to check the time. It was too early for Combeferre to be back with Joan and besides, they both had their own sets of keys. There was no need for them to knock. He wiped his hands off on his jeans and headed downstairs to answer the door.

It was only once he’d opened the door that he realised he’d forgotten to put his shirt on. Enjolras stood hesitantly in the doorway, holding a bakery box.

“Hello,” Grantaire said politely. He wasn’t mad anymore – he’d even go so far as to recognise he _may_ have overreacted, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t confused about what Enjolras was doing on his doorstep.

“Um,” Enjolras started, significantly less articulate than earlier. “Hi. I hope you don’t mind – I got your address from Joan’s file.”

“Shame you couldn’t have used that file earlier,” Grantaire said coolly, leaning against the doorframe. Enjolras went red, and Grantaire would be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying it. Sure he wasn’t mad, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t tease the guy a little.

“I know,” Enjolras said. “Er. That’s why I’m here. I wanted to apologise.” He thrust out the bakery box when Grantaire didn’t speak. “I brought muffins.”

Grantaire eyed the box. “What kind?”

“Blueberry,” Enjolras said, chancing a smile.

Idly, Grantaire wondered whether there was anything in Joan’s school file that mentioned her father’s favourite type of muffin. “Come in.” He certainly wasn’t going to turn down an offer of blueberry muffins, especially not from someone who looked like Enjolras did.

Enjolras followed him uncertainly into the kitchen. He took a seat while Grantaire grabbed plates and switched on the kettle.

“Coffee?” he asked.

Enjolras nodded. “Thanks.”

Grantaire waited until the coffee was made before sitting down beside Enjolras. They sat in silence for a while – Grantaire wanted to let Enjolras speak first, and Enjolras couldn’t quite find where to start. He fiddled with the handle of his coffee mug.

“I  just wanted to say how sorry I am,” Enjolras started eventually, breaking apart his muffin with his fingers. “About what I said. I should have known – we try not to pry to far into our student’s personal lives, but I should have figured... Joan never talks about her mother.”

“Joan never knew her mother,” Grantaire said. “That’s probably why.”

“Not at all?” Enjolras looked up curiously. “Sorry,” he apologised quickly. “It’s none of business, sorry.”

“No,” Grantaire shook his head. “It’s okay. Joan’s mother died during childbirth. She never met her.”

“Oh,” Enjolras’ guilt over bringing this up was growing. “I’m so sorry. Was she, uh, were you - ?” He glanced unsubtly down at Grantaire’s left hand.

“Were we married?” Grantaire guessed. Enjolras nodded shyly, like he knew he shouldn’t have been prying, but his curiosity was burning. “No,” he said. “Joan’s mother – Aimee, and I, we were never... together like that. We were friends, but it was never like that. We had fun together. I was never... I was never meant to be a full time dad like this, but... I guess these things happen.” He sipped at his now lukewarm coffee. “And as long as we’re apologising, I want to apologise to you about the way I reacted. Believe me, I know my daughter has behavioural issues. I do the best I can, and it’s not like she’s left wanting for adult guidance, but sometimes...” He let out a deep breath. “Sometime I think she’s just missed a mother’s touch. That’s something I can’t give her.”

The pain in his voice tugged at Enjolras’ heart. Impulsively, he placed his hand over Grantaire’s. “Considering the circumstances,” he began. “I think you’ve given her more than enough. It couldn’t have been easy on you, but you’ve done wonderfully, especially to lose a friend like that.”

“She was a wonderful person,” Grantaire said, staring into the space before them.

“Listen,” Enjolras said, inching closer. “This is something I think you need to hear.” Grantaire turned to him reluctantly. “Temper aside, Joan is one of the sweetest, kindest, most capable young girls – young people, that I’ve ever met. Yes, she gets in fights, but she is also the first to put her hand up to help somebody. You – and whoever you’ve brought into her life, have done an absolutely fantastic job with her.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire said, not really sure that he believed him.

“I mean it,” Enjolras said, moving even closer. The space between them was rapidly decreasing, and Grantaire’s hand was still warm beneath his own. “Not everybody put in that position would have been able to do so well. She’s very lucky to have you.”

The front door banged open before Grantaire could respond, which was just as well. Enjolras’ hand over his, the kindness in his eyes, and the general closeness of their bodies, was making it very difficult for him to concentrate.

“Daddy!” Joan yelled from the doorway. “Can we go to the zoo? We started Harry Potter today and I want to see if I can talk... to... snakes,” she finished slowly as she entered the kitchen, looking between her father and her teacher.

They broke apart quickly.

“Hi Joan,” Enjolras said kindly.

“Hello,” she said politely as Combeferre joined them, carrying Joan’s school bag.

“Oh,” he said, looking between the men with interest. “Are we interrupting? I can take Joan out for – ”

“No,” Grantaire said quickly as he got to his feet. “Uh, Joan’s teacher just came over to discuss her behaviour yesterday.”

Joan looked down guiltily.

“Riight,” Combeferre said, clearly not believing the story.

Enjolras cleared his throat. “I should get going,” he said, standing. He looked over at Grantaire fondly. “Thanks for talking to me.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Grantaire offered. He ignored Combeferre’s smirk as he led Enjolras past him.

“Thanks again,” Enjolras said, lingering in the doorway. “And sorry. Again.”

“Well thanks for apologising,” Grantaire said. “Not many would.”

“And don’t worry about the fight,” Enjolras said. “I can take it out of the report, forget about it just this once.”

“No, don’t,” Grantaire argued gently. “You’re right. Joan... needs to control her temper. I’ll talk to her.”

Enjolras smiled. “Well don’t change her too much,” he said. “You should think about signing her up for a sport. They’re good for getting all that extra aggression out.”

Grantaire laughed. “I’ll think about it, thanks.”

 “I should really get going,” Enjolras said after a few moments of awkward silence. “Have a good night.”

“Wait.” Grantaire stopped him before he could make it all the way down the stairs. He was feeling a little brave. Enjolras turned expectantly. “Do you maybe want to get coffee sometime? Or dinner?”

Enjolras stared. “Are you... asking me out?”

“Is that inappropriate?” Grantaire second guessed himself. “It is, isn’t it? You’re her teacher, of course it’s inappropriate, I’m sorry.”

Enjolras laughed. “I’d love to,” he said. “Friday? Dinner?”

Grantaire nodded, beaming. “I’ll see you then.”

“Good,” Enjolras said. “I’ll call you,” he promised, stumbling a little as he headed for his car, a grin stuck very permanently on his face.

Grantaire attempted to hide his own smile as he stepped back inside, to no avail. Combeferre raised an eyebrow as he re-entered the kitchen.

“The teacher, R? Really?”

“Where’s Joan?” Grantaire ignored him as he started pulling out ingredients for dinner.

“Taking a bath,” Combeferre answered. “And don’t ignore me. What’s the deal with you and the teacher?”

“Nothing,” Grantaire said casually. “He just came over to talk about Joan, that’s it.”

“Sure,” Combeferre said agreeably. “But then why’d you ask him out?”

“I can’t believe you were listening,” Grantaire said as he measured out rice. “Are you staying for dinner?”

“You should know by now that there are no secrets between any of us,” Combeferre said smugly. “And yes, I’m staying, stop trying to change the subject. You like him,” he teased.

Grantaire shrugged. “He’s nice.”

“And cute,” Combeferre added. Grantaire turned to him and raised an eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t let your husband hear you talking like that.”

“Please,” Combeferre said nonchalantly. “Courf and I are _very_ secure in our marriage, and let’s face it, he’d probably agree with me. In fact,” he grinned slyly. “If you don’t want the teacher, we might take him.” He laughed at the glare Grantaire shot him. “How long has it been since you’ve been on a proper date anyway?”

Grantaire sighed. “A while.” He didn’t want to admit exactly how out of the dating game he was. He’d had... people come in and out of his life over the past few years, but nothing serious. He hadn’t _really_ dated anybody since before Joan was born, and he knew that Combeferre knew that.

“So you deserve this,” Combeferre said. “Own it. Go on the date with the hot teacher. Enjoy yourself. Don’t worry so much.”

“I’m not worrying,” Grantaire denied unconvincingly.

“You are,” Combeferre said. “And it’s understandable, but you need to stop. You deserve this. I can – wait.” He frowned. “Okay _I_ can’t babysit, but I know for a fact that Marius is free Friday night, and he’s been complaining that he doesn’t see Joan enough. Everybody wins.”

“He saw her three days ago!”

Combeferre shrugged. “Yeah, but you know that’s like, five years in Marius time.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I’ll call him later.”

“Good,” Combeferre said, pleased. “It’s about time you had some fun.”

Thankfully, Grantaire was saved from having to continue the conversation as his daughter reappeared, her wet hair dripping all over the floor. He gave Combeferre an exasperated look.

“’Ferre?”

“Come on Joanie,” Combeferre said as he herded her out of the kitchen. “Let’s do something about your hair.”

“Can we read more Harry Potter?” she asked as he led her into the living room.

“Maybe later,” he said. “We need to dry your hair first, before you get yourself sick.”

He kept her occupied while Grantaire cooked. When it was finally time to eat, Joan chattered on so much about Harry Potter and magic and the zoo that Grantaire had to promise to take her there just so she’d eat before her food went cold.

While Combeferre was reading Joan to sleep, Grantaire called Marius. As expected, he agreed to babysit Joan almost straight away, but not before grilling Grantaire extensively about why he needed a babysitter in the first place. Grantaire was just hanging up with him when Combeferre came down the stairs.

“That Marius?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire said. “He’s happy to babysit on Friday. This is really going to happen.”

“As it should,” Combeferre said, shrugging into his discarded jacket as Grantaire stood to walk him to the door. He placed his hands on Grantaire’s shoulders, and looked him sternly in the eye. “You deserve this, R. Embrace it. Embrace _him_ ,” he said with a wink. “Just like I’m going home to embrace my husband. See you on Sunday,” he said as he descended the steps.

“Drive safe,” Grantaire called after him. He waved in response.

Grantaire waited until he’d driven away before going back inside. He headed upstairs to where his bed was calling out to him. As he shuffled around beneath the blankets, he found himself growing more and more excited about the idea of this date. He had golden curls on his mind when he finally drifted off.

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoy this kinda gay nerd content please consider [buying me a coffee!](http://ko-fi.com/A507ZD8)


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